Meeting His Match

by Tia Souders

  She caught Logan’s eye, off in the distance, chatting with two men, and so she passed the time with small talk of her own. Making her rounds, she clicked over the marble floor, taking in the limestone Corinthian columns, and decadent tables spilling over with flowers and candles. It would have been romantic if she were the type to be taken in by such things.

  Men approached her and she smiled, politely giving them a couple minutes of her time. But her heart wasn’t in it. Instead, her sole focus seemed to be on him.

  Logan stood below the massive chandelier hanging from the glittering stained glass. It was stunning, yet he was the focal point, simultaneously acknowledging her, yet ignoring her.

  The cocktail hour passed at a sluggish pace, with him flicking his dark gaze to her, making it hard to maintain her focus. From her periphery, she studied him. She watched the way the soft light slanted against his face, casting him half in shadow, somehow illuminating his golden skin, while making others appear sallow. His tux fit him like a glove, and he smiled easily as he spoke. Even from a distance, she could hear the deep rumble of his laugh, vibrating through her like a starting pistol at the beginning of a race.

  At the moment, a nameless man stood beside her, trying to get her attention and failing. Why did it she seem like she’d captured the attention of every man in this room except his?

  Anger boiled her blood. Being ignored was not something she was used to.

  The man shifted in front of her and cleared his throat, once more trying to pull her into a conversation. “I can’t believe you’re not here with someone,” he said.

  Sighing, she turned to him. “I am, actually,” she said with a wry smile.

  “Really?” The guy’s brow crinkled in disbelief. His golden hair was slicked back, and he had bright blue eyes, and a chiseled jaw. Any other night, she’d think him handsome.

  He motioned with his flute of champagne, a smile playing on the corners of his lips. “Well, if you were my date, I wouldn’t leave you out of my sight.” He took a sip of his drink as his gaze lingered on her chest.

  Subtle.

  Marti shot him a bored look.

  “What did you say you did for a living? Do you work for the hospital?” he asked.

  “No. I’m a writer.”

  “A writer, huh?” He rocked back on his heels. “Cool. What do you write?”

  “I’m Marti McBride,” she said and offered him her hand.

  He clasped it in his own as recognition lit his eyes, his whole face brightening with the revelation. “Single In the City.”

  Marti nodded.

  “Well, I’m happy to be the subject of your next article,” he said, in a way Marti guessed was supposed to be suggestive but only made him sound constipated. Then he flashed her a lecherous smile.

  “Oh, I think I have plenty of material.” She tugged at her hand, but he held it tight and pulled it closer to his chest, forcing her to step forward.

  “Well, then maybe we can fix this single situation.” He winked, and she caught the sour scent of booze on his breath, something stronger than the champagne in his other hand.

  Her stomach lurched, but he continued, oblivious of her disgust, “Something tells me you just haven’t gone out with a real man—”

  “Ah, there you are.” Logan wrapped his arm around Marti’s waist, pulling her into his side and away from the grabby stranger.

  The man’s expression turned annoyed before he glanced at Logan and his scowl melted into nerves. “Dr. Love.”

  Logan’s gaze remained cool on the man’s face, his eyes shimmering emeralds under the blue light. Quiet tension flickered in the muscle of his jaw as he acknowledged the man in front of him. “Ben.”

  “I, uh . . . I didn’t realize she was your date.”

  “Easy mistake.” Logan forced a smile and turned to Marti. “If you’re done socializing, I’d like to have a word.”

  It was an admonishment. Anger spiked her blood. “You have some nerve,” she hissed as he pulled her away, hand clasped securely above her elbow.

  If she hadn’t wanted to get away from the loser so bad, she would have ignored Logan.

  “You could have come over when you arrived.”

  “I’m here as your guest. Remember?”

  He moved them deeper into the ballroom, his quick stride eating up the room. Only when she planted her feet, did he pause. “If you were intent on ignoring me, may I ask what purpose my presence here serves? It certainly doesn’t seem like you need, nor want a date.”

  “You’re upset.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth like this surprised him.

  Maybe it surprised her too.

  Once the evening was over, she was done with him. Who cared if he ignored her?

  “You seemed to be handling yourself quite well, but I apologize,” he said, amusement dancing in his tone. “It was rude of me. I got caught up in talking to benefactors.” He waved a hand and the corners of his eyes creased while one side of his mouth quirked.

  Marti sniffed as she lifted her chin. “I accept your apology, even though you don’t look sorry.”

  “I may not have come to get you immediately, but don’t think I didn’t notice you walk in.”

  “Is that so?”

  Logan sneered. “Fishing for compliments?”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits.

  The scent of his cologne drifted toward her as he stepped closer. Blood pounded in her veins. He leaned down, speaking softly into the shell of her ear, making her shiver. “Every head in the room turned. Every man’s jaw dropped, and every woman stared at you with envy when you walked in. I notice everything. Don’t forget it.”

  Marti shivered as he retreated like he hadn’t said anything. “Dance with me?” He reached a hand out to her, palm up. There wasn’t a single soul on the dance floor, and Marti glanced nervously around them.

  “Isn’t it a little early for dancing? We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

  He shrugged and clasped her hand in his, leaving her little choice but to follow. “Since when do you care what people think?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then come on.” He tugged her farther onto the floor. “No one ever dances at these things. They’ll let the champagne circulate a while longer, fill their stomachs with fat-laden appetizers, then some boring guy in a penguin suit will make a speech, and everyone will clamor for his attention before and after dinner, then the evening ends, all in an effort to scratch each other’s backs. They’ll make a donation, all with an angle or hidden agenda.”

  “Do you know a lot about hidden agendas?” Marti asked, her tone light.

  She caught sight of several people blatantly staring.

  “Maybe. It’s hard to attend these things and not. Tax write-offs, political endorsements, partnerships, you name it. Most people here have a reason to show their support, and usually, it has little to do with the cause.”

  Logan came to a stop and spun her around to face him, then placed his hand on the small of her back. The heat of his touch seared through her skin like flames.

  “And we both know your agenda this evening,” he said.

  “And that is?”

  “To prevent me from spilling your dirty little secret to the Times that half your material is either made up or embellished.”

  Marti grunted a noncommittal sound. “Maybe I just wanted free champagne and canapés.”

  “You don’t strike me as a freebie-chaser.”

  “No?”

  He locked eyes with her. “No,” he said softly.

  She fluttered her eyelashes. “Maybe I just wanted the pleasure of your company.”

  Logan barked a laugh. “Now that is even more far-fetched.”

  “True.” Marti grinned. “I can’t stand you.”

  He slid his hand lower on her back. Cue the butterflies.

  Clearing her throat, she said, “So we’ve established my reasons for being here. What about you? What’s your agenda?”

  He shrugged. �
�This charity is personal for me. My mother lost her life giving birth to my baby sister because she never received the medical care she needed earlier in her pregnancy.”

  “I’m sorry.” Sympathy swelled in her chest. She hadn’t expected such noble intentions.

  A soft smile ghosted across Logan’s lips before it was gone again. “It was a long time ago.”

  Marti nodded, letting the subject drop, allowing him to lead as the band segued into another slow ballad. The silence stretched between them. Glancing up at him through her lashes, she discovered his eyes laser-focused on her, and she found herself once again, wondering why he asked her to be his date when she was certain he could have had his choice of women on his arm. Ones without commitment issues. Ones who wanted a relationship. Ones he didn’t have to blackmail.

  Maybe he was one of those guys that loved the chase? Although it certainly didn’t seem so. But his talk of agendas left her curious. “So why did you ask me here tonight?”

  “I needed a date. You were convenient.”

  “Wow. You really know how to make a girl swoon.”

  “I didn’t think you were the swooning type.”

  “I’m not.”

  He glanced down at her, his gaze flickering to her lips. “Well, don’t worry. I’m not trying yet, but once I do, you’ll know it.”

  The song ended and the band stopped to a round of applause as they began to clear the stage. “Looks like they’re ready to get started,” Logan said, guiding her off the dance floor.

  They didn’t get far. They barely got two steps before a woman approached them. She was older than them by at least twenty years, with a sleek silvery bob, and a capped smile.

  She approached at lightning speed, a hungry look in her eye. “I thought I’d never get the chance to chat with you, Logan.”

  “Sorry. I was a bit preoccupied,” Logan said with a polite smile.

  “I saw. And who is this lovely specimen?” The woman eyed Marti with undisguised interest.

  “Mrs. Shcwartz, this is Marti McBride.” He turned to Marti. “Mrs. Schwartz is one of Hidden Heartbeat’s biggest donors.”

  Marti smiled and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Are you and Logan dating?” Mrs. Schwartz asked.

  Marti’s eyes rounded. Next to her, Logan brought his hand up to his mouth, where he stifled a laugh at what Marti imagined was a horrified expression.

  “Um, no. We’re just friends,” Marti said.

  “Friends?” Mrs. Schwartz quipped like the word had no meaning. She proceeded to stare at her with narrowed eyes. “Wait. I know you.”

  Logan shoved his hands in his pockets and answered for her. “You might recognize Marti from her digital column and articles for PopNewz. It’s quite popular. Even the Times has featured profiles on her.”

  Mrs. Schwartz blinked. “Of course, Single In the City! Yes, I’ve read it.” She beamed and turned to Logan and nudged him with an elbow. “Smart of you to bring her.”

  Marti frowned. The speakers crackled behind them, followed by a voice vibrating throughout the room, calling Logan up to the stage. Marti missed whatever the announcer said, still focused on Mrs. Schwartz’s comment.

  “That’s my cue.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Stay put. I’ll be back, McBride.” Then he headed for the podium.

  Marti’s brow creased. She watched him stride confidently up the stage, and as he took his place behind the microphone, it was amidst the applause of everyone around them. Marti was the only one in the room who didn’t understand why he’d been asked to speak. This purposeful ignorance annoyed her. Obviously, he hadn’t wanted to explain.

  When the hall quieted, Logan leaned into the microphone and introduced himself. “Thank you for the introduction, Pam.” He nodded toward the woman who had announced him, then turned back to the crowd. “You may know me as Dr. Logan Love, but many of you probably don’t know how Hidden Heartbeat got started.”

  He flicked his gaze over to Marti, then back to the crowd. “I was eight years old when my mother, Pamela Love, went into labor. At the time, my father was a contract construction worker, leaving us with the barest minimum of medical coverage. It was mostly emergency care, yet my father made too much to qualify for additional assistance. We had huge gaps in our insurance coverage, which meant my mother didn’t receive consistent medical care. The fact is, women on Medicaid have more options than women with deficient insurance. Because of her lack of proper medical care, the doctors missed something they should have caught. She died during childbirth, leaving behind a newborn child, an eight-year-old and a grieving husband. Eight years ago, when I chose to specialize in Obstetrics, it was with her in mind—the selfless woman I called Mom for the short time I knew her.

  “Several years ago, when I started my own practice, I knew I needed to do more. Being a good doctor, striving to keep both Mom and Baby healthy wasn’t enough.

  “So, I started this foundation. I was a fresh grad, and Hidden Heartbeat was merely a dream, but each of you here has brought that dream to fruition with your generous nature and commitment to the cause. To many, Hidden Heartbeat is an answered prayer. It’s the difference between life and death, a thriving pregnancy, or a troublesome one. Our work is personal to me. It’s important. It’s needed, and though we are small and only touch the borders of New York State, we have helped thousands of moms-to-be bring their children safely into the world. Whether you have donated or campaigned on our behalf, there are no small parts. You have helped bring a life into the world, and for that, I thank you.

  “But our work isn’t over. It’s time we went national, which is why I’ve brought you here tonight.” He shifted, pinning her with his gaze.

  Marti’s stomach dropped as dawning sank in. It wasn’t hard to read between the lines.

  Hidden Heartbeat was his foundation. He organized this gala because he was seeking national funding.

  Finally, she had the answer to the question she’d been asking herself since he’d asked her on this date—and she felt like an idiot for not recognizing it sooner.

  He asked her—one of New York City’s biggest celebrities and journalists. No coincidence there. No agenda on his part.

  Marti scoffed. Yeah, right.

  Fire burned in her veins. Her hands fisted by her side. She had zero right to feel any bit of the anger rising up inside of her like the morning sun, lighting her ablaze from the inside out. It’s not like she wanted to be on his arm. Everything about him grated on her nerves. She should feel relieved that his interest wasn’t personal. It was business. Still, she felt duped.

  The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. He was using her the same way she needed to use him. Both of them were racing to a finish line. Only it wasn’t a solo event or a sprint. It was a relay, and they needed each other.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MARTI

  NO ONE USED MARTI MCBRIDE. No one.

  Marti seethed as she waited for him to finish up his tear-inducing speech for the crowd.

  Oh, he was good. She’d give him that. He was charming, well-spoken, charismatic, everything a woman wanted on paper—the perfect salesman, too.

  His eyes glittered and his skin glowed, draped in soft tinkling light from the chandelier above him. He stood, hands braced on either side of the podium. A general speaking to his squadron. His battle cry a sentimental plea for help in the form of donations. She should have recognized his motive. It was an amateur move not to research him further and discover his involvement in Hidden Heartbeat. While she was busy trying to ignore his presence in her thoughts, he was planning how best to use their chance encounter to his advantage.

  Well, she had news for him. If he wanted to work his little angle, then she’d do the same.

  You want publicity? I’ll give you publicity. Because two can play this game, Dr. Love.

  Marti snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, waiting for Logan as he wrapped up his tear-inducing speech, then weaved his way
through the crowd, shaking hands with donors kissing his butt. He probably loved the attention. Basked in it.

  Marti rolled her eyes inwardly even as she smiled at his approach, flashing him and everyone around them a good view of her pearly whites.

  When he finally closed the gap between them, she flung her arms around him, putting on a show. She was the picture of the doting girlfriend. Proud. Glowing in her newfound love for him. “Darling,” she said, stifling her gag reflex.

  Squeezing him harder than necessary, she prolonged the hug, pulling him tight into her chest. Imagine what it would feel like to give him a knee to the groin? It made her smile wider.

  When she released him, she may or may not have pinched a piece of flesh on his back when no one was looking but couldn’t be sure. The jerk was all muscle. He had zero back fat.

  “Beautiful speech.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek, much more and she’d vomit on her pretty shoes.

  He raised a brow, staring like she was crazy, then leaned down and whispered, “How many glasses of that did you have while I was up there?” His gaze darted to her champagne flute.

  “Not enough,” she gritted between clenched teeth.

  Then she straightened and said, “I couldn’t be prouder.” She tapped him on the nose in a playful way—as if to say, Isn’t he the cutest—and imagined it was her fist instead.

  Logan frowned down at her, his forehead wrinkled in a look of consternation she quite enjoyed. Confusing him was the least she could do.

  The bulb of a camera flashed, and Marti flushed with vindication because it was just as she expected. The media always covered huge events like this, and their timely appearance didn’t disappoint.

  “Smile,” Marti sing-songed and turned to the camera.

  “Marti—” He grabbed at her arm.

  “Come on, Logan. It’s all for a good cause. Right?” Her hard gaze met his, her voice tight beneath her words.

  He hesitated only a moment before recognition dawned in his eyes. He smoothed his tux and smiled.

  Good boy. Marti wanted to pat his head and give him a treat.